


easy, baby, maybe i'm alive

by museme87



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Book Spoilers, F/M, Post - A Dance With Dragons, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 19:09:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1869129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/museme87/pseuds/museme87
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Jaime invites Brienne to join him in the bath, Brienne tells him tales of her girlhood, and they finally acknowledge their growing feelings for one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	easy, baby, maybe i'm alive

**Author's Note:**

> Brienne and Jaime bathing together post-Harrenhal is one of my favorite scenarios, and this fic stemmed from that. Many thanks to L for the beta work, especially in the middle of the big move. The title is sort of from a line in Ed Sheeran's "I'm a Mess," except I mistook "Easy, baby, maybe i'm a liar" for "Easy, baby, maybe I'm alive" and liked it too much to change it.

"You had me woken from the first sound sleep I've had in weeks for this?"

Gesturing emphatically at him, Brienne meets Jaime's gaze from the bath that he is so obviously enjoying, her eyes still sleepy but managing to convey her deep annoyance well enough. He offers her a lopsided grin and shrug in response. A few choice words and gestures come to mind, ones that she's learned from the household knights and fishmongers of her childhood; however, none seem up to the task of expressing her complete _fury_ with Jaime just now. 

"I know it wasn't very kind of me, but I promise it's of some importance." 

"Some importance?" she crosses her arms over her chest. "You are in the _bath_. It can't be that important at all." 

"That's debatable," he says. "This is a fine bath. Better than I've had in ages." 

Her brow furrows. "You are an _ass_ , Lannister. And if you dare to have me woken again, you had best come yourself this time and bring your sword with you."

Turning, Brienne makes her way to the door with the thoughts of her warm bed—piled with furs and feather pillows—lulling her tired mind back to sleep. She's nearly reaching for the door handle before she hears Jaime make some insufferable noise, one that tells her he's about to speak. She preempts him, facing him once more with her finger pointed squarely at his chest. 

"Don't. Whatever it is you want to say can wait until we break our fast tomorrow." 

"I'm afraid it can't." His words might suggest he's sorry, but the expression on his face suggests otherwise. "Come closer. This is a delicate matter." 

She frowns. "Doubtful."

"Brienne, please." 

Jaime looks up at her with wide, pleading eyes. If they were brown instead of green, she might mistake him for one of her father's beloved hounds begging for scraps. Perhaps for the first time, Brienne wonders what such a look earned him as a child. If their brief encounter this evening with his Aunt Genna is any indication, Brienne imagines it won him any number of treasures. 

"By the Seven, you're a man grown," she says, sighing and surrendering the fight for a moment. "If you splash me though…" 

He holds up his hands in defeat. "I wouldn't dream of it." 

Brienne is certain he would; he's shoved snow down her tunic before. Yet despite her better judgment, she approaches him. Aware of his nakedness, Brienne averts her eyes away from anything below the water line. Under any other circumstances, she thinks even his chest would make her blush, but she is too worn to feel much beyond tiredness and irritation. 

"Have you had a proper bath yet?" 

She shakes her head, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. 

"Join me then." 

"Is that what this is about?" 

"I found myself bored with no one to talk to," he says, shrugging.

"That does not constitute an 'urgent matter.'" 

Tired as she is, she somehow musters enough energy to counsel him on what is and is not worthy justification for waking her in the middle of the night. And just as she's about to, he softens for her, setting aside his characteristic bravado if only for a moment. He's willing to show her his soft underbelly if she'll meet him halfway, and suddenly the fight is out of her. 

"Come." 

"I _can't_." 

"It's nothing you haven't seen or touched before." 

Though it wouldn't be their first bath, the circumstances are entirely different. Jaime is in relatively good health and has come a long way with his injury; he has no need of her as a caretaker now. And all other manners in which he might need her are unthinkable. 

"It wouldn't be proper." 

"Not proper," he scoffs. "Tell me, who carves the tombs for House Tarth? I need to send him a raven before we leave Riverrun to see that 'Ever the proper wench' gets engraved on yours."

"You're a pain." 

"And you refuse to be anything but pig-headed. We have a long travel ahead of us, and baths will come few and far between, especially ones in so fine a tub." 

That's true enough, and the tub _is_ fine—all gild with elegant metalwork. The few days they will be guests of Genna Lannister at Riverrun will offer them the chance to live in relative luxury and a brief reprieve in what will likely become a harrowing journey north—a journey where the odds of survival are poor. Perhaps she would regret not taking this opportunity. 

Though the thought of joining him takes hold of her, Brienne considers what such closeness might mean for their friendship. Their previous bath together had been born of necessity more than anything, and despite the fact that Jaime had forced his company upon her then, nothing entirely indecent had occurred between them. However, she fears joining him now would compromise the (admittedly loose) boundaries of their companionship. 

"It's too small for two," she says by way of an excuse, hoping Jaime will see the sense of that. 

"I can make room." 

"I'd still be forced to practically sit in your lap, Jaime. I'm not a small woman." 

"Is it that the tub is too small for your liking or fear of being so close to me?"

Brienne rolls her eyes. "You flatter yourself, ser." 

"We sleep next to each other every night and don't always keep our distance, if you'll recall." 

"We're clothed." 

"We've kissed once or twice." 

"And still clothed." 

"If it's hiding behind clothes you're concerned about, wear your smallclothes. And here I thought you were as brave as the Warrior." 

"I am as brave as the Warrior because I do not look like the Maid." 

"If I wanted to bathe with the Maid, I could find any number of sweet looking women in this castle. But as it happens, I'm far more interested in bathing with you."

Jaime does this to her often—finds some way to offer her a compliment veiled in insult. There's something to be said for it though. His words ring truer to her ears when he does not play at idle flatteries. Brienne has known men to lie to her face in hopes of getting between her legs, their whispers oft what any maid would want to hear. But not Jaime, and his honesty has a startling effect on her. 

Tugging at the lacings of her breeches, Brienne hooks her thumbs into the waist and slips them down her legs to pool at her feet. She steps out and kicks them lightly to the side before fiddling with the lacings of her nightshirt. Green eyes heavy on her, she finds herself freezing up; she has never stripped in front of him before. 

"If you laugh…"

His brow furrows. "Why would I laugh?" 

_Why wouldn't you?_ , she thinks, yet lacks the heart to say it. Past experience has made her build walls and steel herself against any promise of affection from a man. It's been difficult to wrestle with as Jaime grows bolder in his attentions. The first night he put his arm around her as they laid in their bedrolls, she had feigned sleep for hours to avoid any confrontation over what had been nothing more than a sweet gesture, and it had been weeks before she gained the courage to acknowledge him as he curled against her. 

"I can see you're struggling with this," he says, sincerely. "If you'd rather leave now, we can pretend this never happened." 

"You say this after I have my breeches off?" 

Biting his lip, he attempts to stop himself from grinning. It's one of those easy, lazy smiles that makes her stomach tie up in knots. While she may have a hard time undressing in front of him, it does not mean that she doesn't want to be here; Jaime should know her better than to presume she would do anything she has hesitations about. No, the timing and the place are less than ideal. And yes, she is deeply concerned about how this might change their awkward friendship. But, she knows that at any moment this could all unravel. For once, she finds she would rather live with the regret of her actions tonight than spend the rest of her life wondering what tonight could have been.

With a burst of courage, she pulls her nightshirt over her head and throws it aside. Brienne only pauses for a moment before stripping off her small clothes as well. If nothing else, she will meet him in this bath as equals, both naked as their name day. 

As the cold air hits her skin, Brienne feels a sense of dread wash over her suddenly. She waits, meeting his gaze with her chin slightly raised in defiance. Brienne can feel herself challenging him to say anything now that he's seen her bare. Green eyes are heavy on her, and despite all she searches, Brienne cannot find any callousness in him. Yet, she keeps desperately seeking it out—knowing, surely, that it will come—and barely feels the shiver that races down her spine from a gust of wind. Only when Jaime's look falls heavy on her meager breasts does Brienne realize that her nipples have hardened in the cold. She swallows hard, her self-consciousness urging her to move to break Jaime's gaze. 

The water is steaming hot as she tests it with her toes, almost too much to bear. However, Brienne forces herself to dip in further, mindful of Jaime's legs, before stepping in with her other foot. Her awareness of her nakedness growing greater, Brienne sinks down into the tub, but Jaime stops her with a light touch before she can sit between his feet. 

"Sit between my legs," he says. "With your back to my chest." 

Brienne pauses, her eyes meeting his, wary. She hadn't realized he wanted her so close, touching skin to skin. For a moment, she wonders if he wants her like that so he can pretend she is another without having to look upon her face, no doubt. But such a suspicion is unfair, and she owes Jaime more than to think that of him. If it is truly Cersei he wants to be near tonight, he would not dishonor her by asking her here. 

"You're certain?" she asks, giving him the opportunity to back out as he had given her. 

"Of course." 

They are a tangle of limbs for a moment as she shifts around. Brienne thinks it would be better if she—the taller of the two—were in Jaime's position, but when she suggests as much, he refuses her. Before she finds a comfortable place, she's elbowed him in the side once and nearly kneed him sharply in his manhood as her foot slipped. 

"Easy, wench. I'm not certain I'm willing to commit entirely to my vow of celibacy just yet." 

She blushes red for the first time tonight, settling against him. "Sorry." 

It takes them both a few more moments to be at ease with each other, Jaime claiming she's as rigid as a corpse and Brienne trying to find it in her to relax so near to a man like Jaime. Yet they come to some sort of silent agreement, and Brienne manages to curl up against him, her body angled just so and her head resting against his shoulder. She does what she can to avoid thinking of how exposed she is.

Brienne feels his right arm slip across her belly, holding her lightly in place. It's familiar, the same way he holds her as they sleep wrapped up in their bedrolls, yet the touch of his skin has her breath catching just so. 

"The hot water should work wonders on your muscles," he says. 

She moves her head just slightly to meet his eyes and somehow finds her voice. "Now that I'm in the bath, you no longer need to persuade me." 

"It feels good?" 

Briefly, she wonders if he means the bath or being with him like this, yet she does not linger on it long for fear she will overthink this. 

"It'll do." 

As Jaime promised, the water does ease her tired muscles. She tries to drink the sensation in, wondering how badly her feet and thighs will ache on the road north as the snows begin to pile up, as she's certain that even fresh horses from Riverrun will not last long in the weather. 

Brienne finds herself able to push the concern from her mind though, if only for a few hours. The heat puts her at ease, and she finds her eyelids suddenly heavy. It is only Jaime—with the short hairs of his beard tickling her ear—that keeps them from closing entirely. 

"Are you still mad at me?" he asks, his lips ghosting over her temple. 

"I'm always mad at you. You'll have to be more specific." 

In truth, she understands what he means perfectly. However, she has no desire to argue with him about this tonight, hoping that her light, dismissive remarks will be enough to quiet him. When his forehead rests lightly against her hair—damp and growing unruly—she knows he will not drop this so easily. 

"I had orders. I did what I could to honor my oath to Catelyn Stark." 

"A Frey—a _Frey_ , Jaime—sits where a Tully should. And a Lannister," she says, eyes piercing. 

"Careful. You're bathing with a Lannister after all." 

His tone lacks any hint of threat, but she almost wish it had because that is at least familiar to her. She could handle violence better than she can the truth of it—that she has crawled into bed with a Lannister, a man belonging to a family that has caused those she has pledged herself to nothing but grief. 

Brienne wishes she were more quick-witted, but that was not a gift the Seven had bestowed upon her. Instead, she sulks in silence, her face turned away from him. 

"Aunt Genna is guilty of much and more, but do not blame her for the deeds of House Frey. She likes her husband no more than you would like me as yours." 

She thinks that an odd thing to say, especially when she is sitting naked in a tub with him. Once, Jaime may have had the truth of it, but she will not pretend that circumstances are the same as they were when they had left Lady Catelyn. At some point, she had started caring for him, which grew into something more—something not entirely innocent. Jaime has shown her more respect than most men and is not hard to look at. While that hardly makes him a husband cut from the cloth of songs, Jaime is more than she could have ever hoped for. 

In the silence, her mind drifts. Had a marriage between them been arranged by their fathers—an unlikely scenario at best—would the two of them be in the position they were now? Would he have woken her up in the middle of the night just for her company? Would he desire to hold her and place soft kisses on her brow? She could not imagine so. If she has learned anything about Jaime, it is his deep aversion to power and responsibility. She would be nothing more than a chain to him, and the only woman Jaime desires to be tied to is his twin. As for her part—no matter his kindness or respect for her—Brienne imagines she would resent him for a lukewarm marriage bed and the children duty would force her to bear him.

She finds that bitterness lingering with her the longer she considers it. In hopes of letting it go, Brienne turns her head, nudging his cheek with her nose. She allows herself to feel his hard chest at her back, to acknowledge the firm hold he has on her. This is not marriage—it is nothing _lasting_ —but it is better. Never has she felt so wanted, even if Jaime's desire for her is little more than playful friendship and the closeness that comes with travel. 

"Let's not speak of this," she says with a sigh. 

"Or the journey ahead then. You've been fretting since our arrival," he adds. "There will be time enough for that later." 

Nodding, Brienne shuts her eyes and allows herself to relax as the water laps at her skin. Images of Jaime come to her unbidden still, standing on her favorite beach an hour's walk from Evenfall Hall with a smile and the sun making his hair shine golden. He does not belong there, not in reality. Even if they survived the coming war and winter, Jaime has no reason to visit Tarth. Imagining him there is nothing more than a silly dream appropriate only for little maids who believe in the songs. And though maid she may be, Brienne knows enough of the world to know better. Those songs are only meant as a salve on the wound a loveless marriage brings and nothing more in truth. 

"Brienne?" 

His constant need of attention reminds her of a child, and much like a child, she knows that ignoring him will only make him harder to bear. But before she manages to ask him just what it is that he wants, she is startled by the feel of a calloused finger tracing a path across her knee. Blue eyes open to find that a scar has drawn his interest and she pulls her knees closer to her chest to examine it herself; she had almost forgotten it was there. 

"Where did it come from? It looks ghastly." 

"Childhood," she says with a shrug. 

"That's it?" 

"Did you want a tale?"

He smiles lightly, dipping in close to her to place a slow kiss on her temple. "Well, if you're offering, wench." 

His rough voice and hot breath send a little shiver down her spine. They never used to, and she much preferred it that way. Lately she's found herself noticing the way heat pools in her lower belly after her encounters with Jaime, and at times even lower still during those long nights he is pressed against her. 

She clears her throat, trying to ignore his closeness now. 

"I…uh…it's not that interesting really." 

Brienne looks at Jaime, waiting for him to come to his senses about hearing some stupid story from her girlhood. When he says nothing, she has little choice but to carry on. 

"I don't remember the incident entirely. It happened not long before Galladon died, so I could not have been older than four. We were playing on the beach, climbing on the rocks—nothing made my brother happier." 

Finding herself caught up in the wisps of memory, she recalls Galladon's smile, all of eight and a handsome boy. He would take her by the hand and pull her behind him as he ran on long legs away from their septa and nursemaids. He was her only companion after their mother's death, their father retreating to his private quarters more often than not, alone with his grief. At times, Brienne would hold that solitude against him—after Galladon, _because of_ Galladon—as she was forced into the unenviable position of heir to Tarth. Her brother had been better suited for it than her. 

"How old was he when…?" Jaime asks, softly. 

"Eight, almost nine. Drowned on the same beach." 

"You were close." 

Brienne nods. "He was a good brother and would have been a fine man." 

"So I take it he didn't push you?" he says, running his thumb along the scar.

"No, I-I slipped. It wasn't much of fall, but my knee caught on a sharp rock and the impact drove it deep. There was a great deal of blood." Brienne smiles easily, despite herself. "Galladon thought I was dying, the fool. But we had just lost Mother not a year before, and I think death was still a very fresh concept to us." 

"What did she die of?" 

"An illness. It came on quickly and took her in a span of a few days. They said she had a peaceful death, that she felt no pain at the end." 

Despite how she tries, Brienne cannot conjure up a true image of her mother in her mind. The woman she imagines looks like her aunt Jeyne—sister to her mother—and one of her nursemaids. For a moment, Brienne considers asking Jaime if he can remember Lady Joanna, but thinks better of it. Their long dead mothers have no place with them this night. 

"Anyway," she says, "I had to have several stitches and wasn't allowed at the beach again without close supervision. See? Not much of a tale." 

Brienne watches as Jaime takes her hand into his own—his palm folding over the back of hers—their fingers intertwining. His touch is firm, and she can only bring herself to return it lightly. She has not yet become accustomed to this. 

"I'm sorry. I didn't think it would bring up such painful memories. I should have asked you something safer, your first kiss perhaps." 

"Are we playing a game of questions now, ser?" she asks, looking over her shoulder with her brow raised. 

"Well, it would pass the time. I have no intention of leaving this bath until the water cools. And if you're offering to share, well…" 

"Only on the condition that I get to ask you a question in return." 

He hesitates only briefly. "Alright, your terms seem fair enough." 

Brienne hums thoughtfully, returning her head to the comfort of Jaime's shoulder. It has been a long time since she recalled that rainy afternoon on Tarth, alone in the stables with Endric. The boy had perhaps been her first love, his hair dark and smile lopsided. At the time, she thought he would likely be the most handsome man to ever kiss her, never knowing that her path would cross Jaime's one day. 

"He was a stable boy, likely a bastard but not born high enough to earn him a name. I first noticed him because he cared well for my mare, and I befriended him not long after. When I grew to have feelings for him, I'd already been betrothed twice. I was not yet a woman flowered, and while I'd never been fair, there was still something feminine about me back then. I think he wouldn't look twice at me now." 

"Ah, a forbidden love then." 

She nods. "My septa said I never had much sense, but I knew well enough that he and I could never be more than close friends. For those few days in the stables, I let myself pretend otherwise. Kissing him made me very happy, but when my father began to speak of betrothing me again, I told Endric we could not continue. For months I must have asked every singer that came to Tarth to sing a very old song about a maiden and a stable hand." 

Jaime tightens his arm around her, pulling her closer to him and settling further into the tub. His thumb tracing hers rhythmically, he kisses her gently at her temple once more, and for a moment Brienne entertains the absurd idea that Jaime might be feeling some discomfort as she speaks of a boy she once felt deeply for. 

"And how was the kiss?" he asks. 

"You know what a clumsy kisser I am now. Imagine it ten times more poorly done, and I think you'll understand what it must have felt like for Endric." 

When Jaime laughs, Brienne throws him a look, her cheeks pink. He pretends to sober up, but his expression makes Brienne laugh in turn. 

"It must have been _awful_ ," she says, unable to control her smile. 

"I don't know. There's something to be said for a woman inexperienced in love."

His tone is still light, but Brienne hears some seriousness beneath it. She thinks he's said it for her sake and nothing more; surely, Jaime, who has loved and been loved by a beautiful woman for years, would not find anything appealing in an unpracticed woman like her. Still smiling, she lowers and shakes her head for a moment, then rests against his shoulder. 

"So tell me of yours then." 

"My first kiss? There's nothing really to tell. There was a girl at the Rock, and we kissed." 

"I've told you two stories now. I think you owe me some detail." 

"Her name was Eleyna Kenning," he says. "Are you pleased now?" 

"Was she very beautiful?" 

"Beautiful enough." 

Brienne frowns when Jaime does not offer more of his tale. And that's exactly what it is—a tale. She is not too smart, but she can tell when Jaime is lying. He has a tell, a twitch in his right arm, and it does not take Brienne much to guess why. She imagines his sword hand had always been ready when someone came too close to guessing what occurred between him and his sister.

"Jaime," she begins, hesitant. "You know you can tell it true. I'm not blind to it." 

"I don't—" 

"Cersei," Brienne says. "I know. Not all of it, of course, but enough. I've guessed."

He says nothing to her and stills. Not even the touch of her hand on his right arm moves him. She's done it this time, she thinks. Rarely have they discussed the topic of his twin, and certainly not so in this manner. 

"I didn't lie about Eleyna Kenning," he explains, yet he sounds somewhere far from her. "She was part of it, one of Cersei's friends at the Rock. And Eleyna had wanted to kiss me. Her mistake was telling my sister about it. 

"We've always been possessive of each other, Cersei and I, but rarely more so than when we were children at Casterly Rock. And we'd always kissed, but when Cersei discovered Eleyna's feelings, our kissing suddenly changed to something much more heated. 

"One day not long after Eleyna confided in Cersei, she fell down two flights of steps and broke her back, never to walk again. Apparently the hem of her gown came undone and was just long enough to trip her. Cersei came to me that night, and we kissed in a way we never had before. She could not stay long, but I had never wanted anyone the way I wanted her then." 

The memory must stir something inside Jaime, his cock stiffening against her. Brienne finds herself wishing she had asked Jaime any question but that one, a memory she had known would be shared with Cersei. Brienne hadn't thought that it would bother her; she understood the nature of Jaime and Cersei's relationship and knew she could never compare to his twin. Not even when Jaime held her as they slept had Brienne been troubled by the truth of Jaime's feelings. 

Yet, an uneasiness creeps up on her now, perhaps because they have never been so close before. Though he owes her nothing, she feels her discomfort shift into something like betrayal. She should have let him lie.

"I should go," she says suddenly, standing. "I…um, thank you. For the bath." 

Before he can get his bearings, she is out of the tub and slipping on her nightshirt, the thin fabric sticking to her wet skin. She is pulling on her small clothes when she feels Jaime's hand on her shoulder, and she looks up, her small clothes askew around her knees. 

"Don't go." 

"Jaime, really—"

"Part of me will always want Cersei," he says quickly, his tone firm and honest. "I love her. She is my twin, and I've never known life without her. But that doesn't mean we're good for each other. I know that now." 

Without knowing what to say, she finishes with her small clothes and picks up her breeches. Brienne tucks loose strands of hair behind her ears and glances longingly at the door. Life would be simpler out there. 

"Wench… _Brienne_."

He is pleading with her, his eyes conveying what he can't—or won't—put into words. His hand circling her wrist, she knows he does not want her to leave like this. And there's something more. Guilt, surely, though Brienne does not want him to feel that way. But not just guilt. She first reads it as want, but thinks better of it. 

Stepping towards him, Brienne plants a tender kiss on his cheek. Before she can pull away, he has his arm around her waist, keeping her near to him without holding her so tightly as to seem forceful. 

"Stay with me tonight."

"Jaime," she says softly. "It wouldn't be—"

"Proper? No, I suspect not. But I've grown accustomed to bedding down with you at night, and I'll likely sleep better in your company than without it." 

Several heavy moments pass as she considers just what to do with his offer, but before she can decide, he's pulling her gently towards the oversized bed. For all that she should protest, Brienne finds herself unable to, not _wanting_ to. At least, not entirely. She likes the feel of Jaime's weight against her back at night, his arm around her waist, his breath tickling the nape of her neck. 

When Jaime pulls back the furs, she slips into bed with only a little hesitation. She lies on her side, her head resting just against her closed palm and knees pulled up. Her stomach suddenly fluttering, Brienne recalls that this is her first time in a proper bed with a man. While in any other circumstance she would know what is expected of her, here, in Jaime's borrowed bed, she does not know what he wants. When she feels the bed sink under his weight, her stomach clenches tightly. 

For a long while he says nothing, and Brienne wonders whether he truly wants to sleep. If the Warrior would bless her with more courage, she might speak first, yet she finds herself lacking. 

"I've never been… _intimate_ with a woman before," he says.

She shifts, lying on her back so that she can at least see him. "But your sister… You shared a womb with her. You've been lovers for years. You fathered her _children_."

"That's not the same though, is it? I've loved her. I've bedded her. But I've never held her through the night."

Brienne supposes that there are some distinctions there, but hardly understands where Jaime is going with this. No woman could compare with Cersei. One night curled next to a woman could surely not compare to bedding the Light of the West, regardless of how brief the encounter. Brienne has had a few close friendships, those that she would define as intimate without being sexual, but she does not think they could eclipse a great love. Though perhaps that has more to do with her desire to be truly loved by a man than the reality of it. 

"I'm not very experienced in this," Jaime says.

"This?" 

He gestures between them. "You and I. Whatever it is that's happening." 

Brienne forces herself to look him in the eye, her breathing slow and his eyes threatening to stop it altogether. For all that he toys with her and riles her up on the road, she sees no teasing in his statement now, despite how she might yearn for it. Jaime has never acknowledged this tension between them before, at least not seriously. And the prospect of Jaime returning her feelings leaves fear creeping through her belly, much to her surprise. She isn't certain she can face any change between them. Not now. 

"Nothing is—" 

Rolling atop her, Jaime shuts her up with a kiss, deep and unlike any he has dared to give her before. His weight is altogether cumbersome and welcome at once, pressing down on her in a way that has her fighting instincts urging her to push him off for the barest moment. Those instincts easily give way to the sudden spasms of want that courses through her though, coming together again in her lower belly. 

Her lips move clumsily over his, her eyes shut tight. His bare chest, with wisps of golden hair, rubs against hers, her worn nightshirt the only barrier between them. The friction there has her nipples peaked and her mouth slow and awkward. If Jaime minds her poor kissing, he hides it well. 

When Jaime's hips move just so, Brienne moves her shaking hands to his shoulders with the intent to nudge him away, because surely he had no real intention to take them this far. However, the ends of his hair brush against her fingertips, and her fingers move almost of their own accord to the nape of his neck. He sighs contently at the feel of her short nails on his scalp. His voice—the sound _she_ produced in him—coupled with the friction and her spasms all converge with a throb between her legs. The subtle shift of his knee against her inner thigh makes her gasp, her mouth suddenly open to him.

She feels the brush of his tongue one, twice, and then Jaime stops altogether, as quickly as he had begun. As he draws back to look her in the eyes, Brienne's heart speeds up. Mourning the loss of his mouth on hers, she considers begging him to continue. She has her honor, but she just might find some of it expendable tonight for the sake of his lips. 

"What was that?" she asks, her breathing unsteady. 

"A kiss before bed like in the songs," he says, smiling. "I know how you love songs." 

Only in the bawdiest of songs would that be considered a bedtime kiss, but it would not be wise to point that out, she's sure. Whether the blush that creeps to her face is from the kiss or from him taking note of her fondness for songs, she cannot say. Maybe some mix of the two. 

His expression suddenly turns uncertain.

"I don't know how to handle this delicately, wench."

If his kiss is any indication of his delicacy, of that she is certain. They both should come to their senses before they ruin the camaraderie between them that makes them good travel companions. Yet Brienne feels a sudden attachment to this fragile thing they've breathed life into tonight. 

"Nor do I." 

He touches her hair gently, pushing it out of her eyes, his green eyes fixed on her. 

"Promise me you'll tell me what you need." 

Brienne nods hesitantly, uncertain that even she'll know what she needs when the time comes. Jaime leans down to capture her lips once more, this time without urgency. His touch is light and tender, just enough to renew her briefly set aside want. When he pulls away this time, he lies on his side. For a moment, she is left confused, certain that he would want to continue kissing. But what was clearly something profoundly heated to her, she realizes, was likely nothing more than a passionate kiss to him, meant to occupy them only for a few minutes. 

When she lies on her side next to him, she finds herself restless. Brienne tries to quiet her body by closing what little space remains between them with a certain daring she did not know herself capable of. Jaime curls around her, his arm slipping over her waist in a familiar fashion. Shifting just so, Brienne is struck by the feel of something pressing against her backside. That too is somewhat familiar, only Jaime had explained that it was common in the morning and had little to do with their sleeping side by side. But it is not morning, and Jaime had not been asleep.

The heat that kept her overwarm with the realization that she had had that effect on Jaime subsides in time. Though tonight marked a turn in their friendship, the quietness between them now is not burdensome; she feels the same ease with him as ever. For a long while she listens to the sound of the sluggish river outside, the snow and ice slowing it down 

As her eyes grow heavy, a frigid burst of air from the windows fills the chamber. Brienne cannot recall her last winter very well, but she does not remember the wind being so cold. And if they are on the cusp of winter now, Brienne does not dare to consider what it will be like a few moon turns. Chilled, she thinks these furs might not be enough. 

"Jaime?" 

"Hmm?" he mumbles, sleep having taken him more quickly than her. 

She hesitates, feeling like a fool for asking something of him that she had long seen to herself. 

"Will you…will you keep me warm?" 

He pulls her against him snuggly, his legs tangling with hers. They have never slept like this—like husband and wife. No, like _lovers_. She sighs, trying to take in the feel of his every inch. When they leave Riverrun, they will no longer be able to embrace like this in their bedrolls, not with the eyes of the rest of their companions on them. 

"Better?" Jaime asks.

She nods. "Yes, thank you." 

Before he falls back to sleep—and Brienne knows it does not take him long on most occasions—she feels him stir once more and tuck the furs more tightly against her. His eagerness to fulfill her request even when half asleep makes her smile. And while she is not yet warm, she suspects she will be soon.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Kudos and comments, especially, are appreciated. This is my first Brienne/Jaime fic, so I'm still finding my bearings where their characterizations are concerned. And while my one-shots are generally lengthy, I have to say that a 5k+ single scene is not at all typical of my writing. I'm not certain where that came from. 
> 
> You can find me over on tumblr at museme87, if you'd like.


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